Take Care

When she was younger, he frightened her with his sneering smile and dismissive wave.  If she got up the nerve to speak to him at all, invariably, he didn't hear her and walked passed with no remark or a dour glance followed by a sharp "What?" that instantly caused a tightening in her chest, a flush in her cheeks and a muttered excuse as she scuttled down the hall to hide.  He didn't like her. She was certain and so she kept her distance though sadly because everyone around her loved him.  With them he was jovial, smiling and always quick with a joke. For more than six years this went on until one day when he had barked at her for the last time.

She was busy; had a lot to do.  Her mind was on forty different things at once as she hustled down the hall.  He was coming out of his office humming Christmas songs as he always did. They stopped and glared at each other as had become their custom. He slowly rocked back on his heels, stepped away and gave her a majestic wave to come ahead.  She squared her shoulders and marched on. She dropped her head and said thank you.

"What?" he snapped.

She felt the flush start in her chest and creep up to her cheeks.  "Thank you." she tried again.

"What are you thanking ME for?" he growled.

Almost in tears she gritted her teeth and snapped her head to meet him in the eye.  "I have no damn clue, Lou. None. So you're right. It's not thank you. It's SCREW YOU and get outta my way I'm busy."

She thought she would vomit. She NEVER spoke to ANYONE this way.  Her heart was thundering inside her ribs and her lips were tingling at the ferocity they had so quickly expulsed.  He smiled sweetly, nodded abruptly and with a sweep of his hand dismissed her, continuing down the hall singing his carols, a little louder.

And so began a friendship.  Instead of the bear down the hall, this man became her "Poppy" ( a nickname shared by many of the younger women in the office and company.  They proudly called themselves his harem)  She saw him every day and spoke to all the time about work, about family and about life.  Each night as she walked out the door, she would say "Have a good night" and he would nod and say "Take care."

Twenty years rolled over them bringing two separate but entangled lives.  They shared many jokes and laughs.  He made fun of her and she yelled at him.  They spoke vulgarly, cruelly and treasured each letter. He was one of the first to hold each of her babies.  She dirty danced with only that man, forty years her senior, at each wedding they attended for coworkers and friends. They drank too much at Christmas parties and ate ice cream in their office instead of working on the hottest summer days.
She loved her "Pop".

Each night he told her to "Take care."

When the diagnosis came, leukemia, her stomach knotted but was reassured by doctors, family, everyone that it wasn't a death sentence. Pop could survive this.  She numbly nodded and watched him undergo treatment.  She watched his hair fall out, the weight come off as the number of days he spent in the office with them grew fewer.  He was tired.  She understood but began to go in early to have a little more selfish time alone with him to talk.  He told her of his mother, how he loved and missed her so very much.  He told her of his job in the war, a medic and how he used to speak to the soldiers to ease their suffering as they died or were being tended. He spoke of his favorite place in the whole world, Savannah. He showed her pictures of his friends and shared stories of his boyhood pranks.  And she hung on every word.  She treasured those times, telling him as she walked out the door. "I'll be back.  I love you Pop"  He always responded with the same nod and two words:  "Take care" 

Then he was too weak to come at all.  He had barred her from coming to his apartment for almost twenty years but now, she ignored his command.  She went to check on him.  She found him frail, unshaven and under nourished.  She had breakfast with him, every morning and then revisited for lunch.  He ate and they talked; about the office, the gang, the weather. Sometimes they just watched TV.  She couldn't stay away, wanting; needing only to be with her friend. It made her feel good to know he'd eaten and they'd had a visit.  "I'll see you in the morning." or "I'll come back for lunch." was her goodbye. 

He answered the same as always.

Christmas was coming.  She put a tiny tree on his table and decorated it for him to see when he got up.  Returning for lunch, he pointed roughly at the table.

"Who the Hell put that there?"

"I did. Like it?" she was grinning.

"No.  It's not all white.  I only like all white trees."

"Well, guess what? I didn't have TIME to make it all white but you can bet your wrinkly old ass I'm gonna get some damn snow and MAKE that little piece of shit white. PEARLY WHITE."

"You should."

"I will."

He nodded sharply and chuffed in satisfaction.  They had lunch and watched a horror movie.

 When the call came that he had been moved to the hospital, she cried.  They told her he would not come home.  Her heart began to crack and ache. She thought maybe if she stayed away, he would live.  That wasn't true and she simply couldn't do it.  She went every day just to hold his hand.  His throat was so dry and his voice too soft to understand or hear. She raised his cup and nearly sobbed to hear he hadn't enough breath to drink from a straw so she dropped water or milk or soda or whatever he wanted in to his mouth. There were a lot of pain meds.  His eyes were cloudy and heavy but one afternoon, he was awake and lucid.

"Can you see this Pop?" She pointed to a white board on the wall at the end of his hospital bed.

"Yeah."

"This far? This white board?"

"YEAH ~ I'm the old sick one. Shame you can't HEAR from over there."

"Yeah...well lookee here Pop..." and with that she drew a Christmas tree on the board. "There's your damn white tree now shut up."

She went over and pulled up his covers, sitting down next to him.

"You bitch." he chuckled and closed his eyes.

There was silence now.  He rested.  She cried quietly wanting him to get better. When she rose to go, she leaned over and kissed him.  "I love you Pop" and wiped the tear she had accidentally given him.

His cool smooth hand clasped hers.
"I love you too.  Take care."

She barely made it out the door.  Her hand fighting desperately to capture the sob and pain kicking in her chest.  Her head throbbed, her eyes slammed shut as she leaned against the railing outside his room. 

The next morning, he left her behind and although she understood and was grateful he had no more pain or sickness, she was left numb and speechless at the hole he'd made in her heart; the empty sad hole.  The services were perfect.  They were what he wanted.  All of his friends and family cried as is the case at funerals.  There was laughter too.  The final ceremony at the mausoleum was the worst for her.  The gaping mouth waiting to swallow her friend forever, leaving only letters on granite as the coldest acknowledgment of this great man.  The Honor Guard played Taps for him.  She found she could comfort no one; not her children or friends not even herself.  The tears soaked her cheeks, her handkerchief and her coat. Grief smothered her. And then it was over.  His life summed up.  And everyone went away ~ off to wakes with drinking and food and laughter.  The memories would be shared and life would begin again.

She stood and glared at his final resting place.  "I love you Pop.  Take care" and she turned to go, humming Christmas carols softly to herself as took her place among the living.


For you, my beloved friend.  I will always love and remember you Pop. I miss your face.